Where Eagles Fly
by CdnJAGScribe
Summary: Some of the events in Harm and Animal's second deployment to the Persian Gulf – The First Gulf War (adjusted the chapter length of the story so that updates will come easier. Please read and review).
1. Chapter 1

"Where Eagles Fly"

Author: Haruo Chikamori

E-mail: hhchikamori

Rating: M

Classification: K

Spoilers: N/A

Summary: Some of the events in Harm and Animal's second deployment to the Persian Gulf – The First Gulf War

DISCLAIMER: The characters Harm Rabb, Jr., Sarah "Mac" Mackenzie, Meg Austin, AJ Chegwidden, et al. belong (in concept if not name) to CBS/Bellisarius. No profit is being made from this story, nor is any infringement intended. Animal is the property of Heather and Hugo Chikamori.

Author's Note: The eagle in the story image was photographed by me on June 2, 2013. Bald Eagles have always been my favourite raptor, figuring both into my stories and into my wildlife photography. This story idea came to me from JAG – True Callings, where Harm is telling Skates about how he felt like "if he got in a plane he'd wasn't coming back alive." way back before the ramp-strike. In the Animal/Meg timeline, Animal has one month on Harm as a Lieutenant, considering that he went through Naval ROTC then went active duty Navy.

_**USS Seahawk, Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, December 1990, Firefighter 103**_

"Hey, Animal!" Harm radioed. "So what made you decide to turn down shore duty and head out with us?" Animal had switched over to VF-241 Howlers from the VF-41 Black Aces. "You get withdrawal symptoms or somethin'?" They had just launched from the USS Seahawk, their aircraft carrier which was transiting the Atlantic enroute to the Meditteranean and then through the to the Persian Gulf.

"Yeah, something like that. Harm" Animal retorted whimsically. "I'm addicted…to the smell of salt water. Firefighter 103 to Mother 1; Anybody out there yet, we're looking for a fill-up." His F-14A cranked a hard left turn as Harm sidled onto his wing.

"Roger that, Firefighter 103, Texaco is to your 045 degrees at 10 miles outbound."

"Roger that, Mother 1. Thanks for the tip". Animal said as he switched to ICS. "Scooter, give me a read."

"Roger. Contact 050 degrees, 8 miles."

As Harm and Animal came up on the tanker, Animal slotted in first to tank. Watching the basket waving in the wind, he carefully eased up, extending his refuelling probe; guided it into the basket. There were several interesting euphemisms for tanking; usually related to bodily functions which the male dominated aviation community was more than happy to talk about. The tanker aviators usually referred to their refuelling as "passing gas". The act of putting the refuelling probe into the basket was referenced to the copulation act between males and females.

"Texaco, Firefighter 103, good connection, taking on 11.2." Animal radioed the tanker.

"Roger that, Firefighter 103, transferring 11.2" the KA-6D tanker radioed back to Animal. Transferring 11,200 pounds to top the F-14 off was crucial if the Tomcat wanted to stay on station for a long time. Transiting the Atlantic wasn't a pleasure cruise. All too often, the Russians sent over a lovely little snoop, the Tupolev Tu-95 Bear, a long distance strategic bomber that often tried to penetrate the aircraft carrier's maritime exclusion zone. Anything that got within 200 nautical miles of the battle-group was intercepted and escorted out.

After Harm had topped off, the two broke off and headed on their patrol. "Time for another exercise in burning holes in the sky." Animal quipped as the lead F-14 pointed its nose to 320 degrees and headed for their first waypoint.

Most of their patrols were mundane, boring exercises in keeping alert through monotony during the course of their transit. Not often did they run across Bear incursions, but had to always be ready to respond if one did occur.

"See our little snoop?" Scooter said. "I've got a radar surface contact bearing 090 off our nose, he's pretty much 50 miles off the stern of Mother 1. Betcha he's that Russian trawler. What do you say that we give him a wakeup call?"

"Maybe we should, but check with Mother 1 first." Animal replied.

Harm grinned as he looked over at Animal's aircraft. He somehow knew something was up, by the animated conversation that the crew in Animal's F-14 seemed to be having. Scooter was mentioning something to Animal.

"Firefighter 103, Mother 1, Little Snoop is on your six. Should we pay him a visit?"

"Roger that, Firefighter 103, You're cleared to give him a wakeup. That should let him know that we're on to him."

"See if he calls back to Moscow for instructions." Animal snorted, as he clipped his oxygen mask on. "Firefighter 104…you on my six, Harm? We're going surfing in the waves." Animal rolled his F-14 and descended to Cherubs 2 (200 feet above sea level).

"Roger, 103, we're in your wake." Harm responded, as he clipped his MBU-14/P onto his HGU-55/P.

"Scooter, get me the channel that the Russian trawler is broadcasting on." Animal said digging into his meagre knowledge of Russian to try to find the word he was looking for to startle the shit out of the trawler's Russian crew.

_**Trawler "Moskva", Komitet gosudarstvennoy bezopasnosti, 55 nautical miles behind USS Seahawk**_

"Gde vozdushnyh sudov perevozchika? [Where is the aircraft carrier?]" the trawler's captain said.

"Pjat'desjat pjat' mil' vperedi nas, Kapitan. [55 miles ahead of us, Captain]" said the radarman.

"Po-prezhnemu na jetot kurs [Continue on this heading]" the captain responded as he looked out the windows. Just then an American accented voice said loudly over the radio "Udivlenie, tovarishh [Surprise! Comrade]" in badly accented Russian.

Just then a persistent whine that was steadily growing louder culminated in a roar as two F-14A Tomcats whistled past his trawler so fast that all they were, were blurs as they went overhead and rocketed into the distance become pinpoint dots, just as fast as they had appeared.

"V proshlom mesjace! Amerikancev poobeshhat' [Goddamnit! Damned Americans!]" the captain swore voraciously; half amused that the Americans had managed to pull such a trick on him.

"Â sčitaû, čto oni ne cenim naše prisutstvie v ih vodah, kapitan. [I believe they do not appreciate our presence in their waters, Captain]" The first officer said to him.

The captain looked at his first officer with a jaundiced expression. "Ochevidno. [Obviously]" One did not have to be Russian to understand the dripping sarcasm in his voice.

_**Firefighter 103**_

Scooter chuckled to himself as he looked up at his front-seater. "Animal. Good one." He grinned in such a way that Animal could see him in the rear view mirror. "If they weren't awake before, they sure as hell are now."

"Always happy to help." Animal snickered. "Maybe they'll think twice about the exclusion zone, the next time it could be F/A-18s hauling iron." He commented bringing about a sober reminder that even though perestroika was underway in the Soviet Union, the Soviet Union wasn't dead yet. And the surveillance trawlers were considered a threat that would be met by F/A-18s with 500 lb bombs if the trawler didn't take the hint to 'back off'. Though President Gorbachev the President of the Soviet Union was making strides in trying to bring democracy to his country, the old Stalinist regime was still entrenched and making a last-gasp effort to overturn Gorbachev's reforms.

The rest of the six hour patrol was uneventful, asides from Scooter complaining that his ass had fallen asleep and they made their way back to the carrier; trapping in short order after being relieved by the next crew that were already airborne. Raising the canopy, Animal took a deep whiff of the salty sea air and smiled as he removed his HGU-55/P, still decorated with the Black Aces tape across the helmet. The fact that the Black Aces with two kills (the first Gulf of Sidra incident) and the VF-32 Swordsmen with two (the second Gulf of Sidra Incident) were the only two blooded squadrons in the United States Navy was a good solid point during any trash-talking sessions whenever Harm or any of the other Howler squadron members bugged him good-naturedly about how Animal still kept his VF-41 markings on his flight helmet. One never forgot the first fleet squadron that they ever flew with and naturally the aviators were loyal to their fleet squadron.

As they headed in, debriefed and got out of their flight gear, leaving them only in their recreational flight suits, Mace looked over at Harm and said. "Y'know what, Harm, I'm getting kinda hungry. What say we go head down to the mess and see if we can scrounge up something to eat?"

"Sounds good to me." Harm grinned. "Hey, Animal, you and Scooter coming?"

Animal mentioned rather laconically as they treaded through the knee-knockers as they headed towards the mess. "Yeah. I hear though that we got donkey dicks and rabbit poop this time." Donkey dicks were hot dogs and rabbit poop was slang for beans; they were small enough to be what was excreted out the back end of a rabbit and considering that whenever Big Blue served up the beans, they were either slathered in ketchup or gravy; the analogy to rabbit poop was pretty self-evident. The meal that most aviators preferred were the sliders with cheese. That was usually a special day. Animal usually grabbed a Coke or Pepsi if the latter was available.

"You know how they make this shit they feed us?" Mace asked.

"Papa Foxtrot Mike. Lieutenant JG." Animal said loftily "not a fucking clue! It's Pure Fucking Magic. Anyways, it could be worse, we could be in a foxhole eating C-rats. I'll take this crap any day over C-rats; they say they dug the C-rats for our forward ground troops in Saudi Arabia from the Korean War store-rooms."

"No shit." Mace asked.

"I think he's kidding." Harm replied. "You are, aren't you?" Harm looked nervously at Animal. If the C-rats were of Korean War vintage, he didn't want to ever get shot down to spend a night with the grunts.

They reached the mess and walked in to the friendly jeers of the Howlers. "Hey…Harm, ya dick. Ya visited the Russians and didn't bring us any caviar?"

"Yeah, we visited them… at about 700 knots for about half a second. Not much time to pick anything up." Harm riposted. The other squadron mates jeered good-naturedly with a chorus of "Yeah…riiiight."

"So what's on the menu?" Animal queried the jovial squadron-mates.

"Hamsters!" (Chicken Cordon Bleu).

"Awesome!" Scooter said. He definitely enjoyed that particular menu item. It ranked just below sliders and wayyyy above donkey dicks and rabbit poop.

Digging in, they finished off the meal. The next eighteen hours were going to be filled with rack-time, readying for the next patrol, working out, briefings and meals.

"What you going to do after you finish up your food?"

"I think I'm gonna hit the rack for about 6 hours, then I'm gonna go work out." Animal replied. With the g-forces that were pulled in the F-14 Tomcat, one had to keep physically fit; that meant lifting weights, running the hangar deck.

"Meet up for a game of hoops later?" Harm asked.

"Yeah, sure." Animal replied, looking over at Harm. "2 on 2?" he queried asking if Mace and Scooter were also invited.

"Yeah, the more the merrier." Most JO (junior officers – ranked from Ensign to Lieutenant (0-1 to 0-3)) quarters were small and cramped. But at least unlike the enlisted, they didn't have to hot-bunk. The enlisted really hated it when the mess served rabbit poop. That usually invoked an attack of gas and God help whoever hot-bunked after someone had eaten 'rabbit poop'. They had their quarters which they had to share with another officer. Usually it was with a different officer than the one that they crew with when up in the air.

Animal found that he definitely needed the rest after spending a good six hours in the air. He ended up bunking with Harm in the room since the two aviators were usually on the same flight schedule. It also meant that the room was empty when they were airborne. It made life a heck of a lot easier since the schedule made it so that one didn't disturb the other; they were both up and flying at the same time. Harm usually was wide awake after a patrol so he usually left Animal to sleep before he usually crashed. Usually by about the time that Animal woke up from his sleep, was when Harm ambled in. Life on an aircraft carrier was gruelling and tight-quarters, but somehow they made the best of it as well as keeping their friendship intact. Harm's buddies from the Academy; Luke Pendry had gone to fly with some other squadron and Sturgis Turner had decided to hang out with the bubbleheads. Luckily Animal was on the same wavelength as an aviator and the two had teamed up to become the tops on the greenie board. Usually Harm was in the lead, then Animal, but sometimes the results seesawed back and forth.

Animal yawned as he ditched his "fartbag" – his flightsuit and crawled underneath the covers and was soon sawing logs.

_**USS Seahawk, Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, December 1990**_

"Hey, I'm open." Mace said, as he jinked under Animal's arm and came up with the ball that Harm passed to him. Spinning to get open, he looked up at the basket and shot. Considering the lack of space on the carrier, the hangar deck was lucky to even have a half-court let alone a full one. A swish as the ball met nothing but net. "2 points." Mace grinned at Animal. "So how many straight have we scored on ya?"

"What's the score?" grumbled Scooter. "I think this game's rigged." Animal had the ball, doing a crossover dribble, he evaded Harm's RIO, and no-look passed the ball to Scooter, who deftly evaded Harm, and jump-shot from the three point line. The ball went through the net. "That's three points…" Scooter grinned back at Mace.

"Yeah. 42 points to your 25." Mace riposted "You guys need to pick up your pace or you're going to get your butts handed to you."

Well, unfortunately that was exactly what happened in the game; the final score being 55-36. Grabbing a towel, Animal wiped his face. Looking up at Harm, "Hey. Good game." He acknowledged Harm's and Mace's win as he picked up the water-bottle and took a long swig. "We're a week out from transiting the Suez. Sandbox is going to be a hell of a grind" Animal having had his first Med tour with the Black Aces knew that the flying was going to be intense and endless. In his first tour alone, he had well over a thousand hours of flying time in the Tomcat – that coupled with the amount of flying he had done in RAG and he was closing in on three thousand hours in the type. Sandbox was the nickname for Saudi Arabia in Navy lexicon.

In November, the UN Security Council had passed Resolution 678, taking a hard-line towards Iraq's illegal occupation of Kuwait. The UN Security Council demanded that Iraq withdraw its forces unconditionally from Kuwait to the positions in which they were located on August 1, 1990. So far, Saddam Hussein had refused to budge. It appeared as though the United States and its coalition forces would have to remove him from Kuwait by force.

"I'm not looking forward to it." Harm said. "It's gonna be a hell of a mess." He stated referring to the constant fatigue that was going to be plaguing the entire crew of the USS Seahawk with regards to the round-the-clock missions that were going to take place after the 16th of January, which was the deadline for Hussein to remove himself from Kuwait. At this point, even through the ZNN newsfeed, it was pretty evident that the deadline would come and go. As a matter of fact, Iraqi Republican Guards were taking up defensive positions around the Kuwait City perimeter and their advance forces were making for the Kuwait border with Saudi Arabia.

"Did you ask Ops when we're up again for the next round of patrols?" Animal asked as he took another swig from his water bottle.

"Yeah, got the ensign salute." Harm did a comical parody of shrugging his shoulders "Didn't know anything. So it doesn't look like we're on this rotation. I presume the rotorheads are going to be covering our transit through the Suez." Harm looked more than bored.

Animal looked out the aircraft elevator at the open ocean, nodding his head. "Yeah; with itchy trigger fingers…" his expression of crossed eyes and psychotic grin while pantomiming holding a 50 calibre, making Mace crack up laughing. "waiting for some target* (* target is a derogative term for Iraqi) to hop up and make their presence known." He paused a long moment. "I get the feeling that Skipper is holding us in on reserve. Tops on the greenie board, y'know. 'Cause we'll be doing the majority of the mission load over Sandbox. We're not going to be getting too much rack time." Harm sat down on the tractor that the four were hanging out on cooling down from the impromptu basketball game. Animal got up "well, guys…I think I'm going to go hit the showers."

_**January 1991**_

The New Year's celebrations onboard were short and ship's watches were maintained as the USS Seahawk made its way through the Suez Canal. The shorelines were visible from either side of the ship no more than a stones' throw away and the lights of the Egypt on one side and Saudi Arabia on the other. Only the helicopter squadrons were on ops duty, due to the fact that the speed through the canal was not enough to support fixed wing flight ops. The Seahawk would have to maintain a minimum 30 knot WOD (wind over deck) to commence fixed wing flight operations so fixed wing ops over the canal was impossible due to the minimal speed that the Seahawk could generate going through the locks.

Harm and Mace were looking out the hangar deck. Mace had a Nikon F401s in his hand that he had bought back in Naples. Periodically taking a shot, he finished his roll of 400 ISO film in the waning light that preceded twilight.

Harm gazed into the twilight at the lights of Egypt. The quiet tempo of work on the ship belied the tense atmosphere within the ship. The Suez transit would be the last quiet that they would have; the tense-stand-off waiting for them at the end of the canal. Harm had the experience of one solid cruise behind him, but war wasn't in the picture back then. Patrols never involved the possibility of live ordnance or missiles fired for real by them or at them. It was a sobering realization that this could very potentially cost any of them their lives.

"Anything interesting." Harm asked his RIO as Mace raised his camera again.

"Nothin' much, Harm ol'buddy." Mace said. "What I need is a damned tripod. The light sucks. So where's Animal? Has he driven Ops batshit insane yet?"

Animal was by nature ebullient, eager to get up and fly and get things done. The transit was driving him buggy, so he was constantly in Operations driving the 04s nuts. The O3 equivalent of 'Are we there yet, Are we there yet?'.

_**Ops, USS Seahawk**_

"Are we there yet?" Animal asked, an irritating grin on his face as the Lieutenant Commander in charge of Operations looked at him malevolently…

…and replied testily "No! Lieutenant Nakamura, we are not there yet…we still have at least 16 hours to this transit at the current 10 knots that we are doing and we won't be anywhere near our destination for at least another week!" He was hoping to get rid of Animal for at least the rest of the week. It didn't work.

"OK…" Animal replied cheerily. "See you tomorrow." He tossed back as he exited Ops. Lieutenant Commander Telly Bravura held his head in his hands as he groaned in frustration. LCDR Bravura didn't know whether to write up a report on Animal's insolence or scream in frustration.

Lieutenant Mendez just grinned. "They're getting antsy."

"Don't I know it." Bravura replied. "I am too. There's lots of things I'd rather be doing than Ops." The operations officer and his staff continued to look over the map of Iraq and prepared war plans for the eventual invasion of Iraq.

_**January 13, 1991, Persian Gulf, 50 miles off coast of Iraq**_

"_The actions taken today…will hopefully go a long way…to making Saddam Hussein realize just what he's up against._" The voice of President George Herbert Walker Bush resounded through the ready room as the squadron members listened to the TV.

"That's it!" Animal said loudly "We're at war!" he said decisively as the other officers looked at him.

"You sound so sure about it." A Lieutenant Commander looked over in his direction.

"Call it intuition." Animal said. "I've never been wrong."

"Well, the president is giving the Iraqis 2 days to get their asses out of Kuwait." The Lieutenant Commander replied. "I don't think it's going to come to that."

"Well…suit yourself, sir." Animal said. "I think in two days time I'll be telling you, 'I told you so'." Two days later Animal's intuition was proven correct as Saddam Hussein flaunted the deadline and refused to move his troops and tanks from Kuwait. It was then, that Animal and Harm were told that the Seahawk would be waging air operations against Basra, a coastal city flying CAP (combat air patrol) for F/A-18Cs going into Basra and bombing the Republican Guard Base in that area.

On January 17 at 3:00 AM in the morning, the fuse was lit and carrier operations went into high gear. The 0030 wakeup was par for the course as Animal's squadron commander had them on midnight rotation for the last week and a half. Making sure that they were alert and ready for combat operations was not going to be much of a problem. The problem came when the adrenaline started pumping – when the bullets and missiles were being fired at them for real. It didn't matter. As far as Animal was concerned, it was going to be just like it was when they were flying, the last deployment. He was confident of the quickness of his reactions and confident that he would be able to do what it took to keep him, his wingman and their RIOs alive.

_**January 17, 1991, 0245 Feet Wet 50 miles southwest of Basrah. **_

"Harm, your head on a swivel?" Animal asked as they flew through the night sky over the Persian Gulf at over 580 knots, Mach point eight two. The coastline shone quietly as the coalition forces made their way to the multitude of targets to be attacked at the same time tonight at 0300 hrs. Synchronized time between all the attackers would result in a surprise attack on each and every single target.

At 0300 hrs, the F/A-18Cs targeted their targets in the Basra area and dropped their ordnance…and the sky lit up with AA fire. "Looks like we woke up the wasps' nest." Animal quipped as he circled the fray at Angels 30; the anti-aircraft fire looked like little green flaming golf-balls coming up at them. The aviators were all wearing HGU-66/P helmets with the night-vision goggles mounted on a T-bracket and the landscape and every heat source took on a green glow, especially anything that was shot at them.

"You think?" Harm shot back sarcastically as he banked to evade a steady stream of 30mm fire coming up at a diagonal trajectory. "Think the Hornets are finished diddling themselves down there?"

"Probably not." Animal responded as he circled watching the bright green flares as ordnance impacted on their targets. "Nobody's coming up to play." He sounded disappointed. Harm rolled his eyes behind his NVG (night vision goggles). Animal certainly wanted to get a few notches in his belt in terms of air to air combat.

_**Over Ar Rumaylah Southwest, Al-Zubair, Basrah, Iraq**_

The anti-aircraft fire was even thicker over Ar Rumaylah Air Base, a single-runway field cut out of the desert sands. Multiple GBU-16s were impacting all over the base, eruptions of sand propelled forward by explosions and making craters in the runway. Any aircraft there were targets and the enemy aircrew knew it. That's one of the reasons why they were not going anywhere near their aircraft. If they were destroyed in place, that was good enough. The Iraqi aircrew knew their worth to Hussein. They would be of no good to their country if they were shot down on the first night of the war and killed. There would be more attacks that first day of the air war over Iraq. But none would have the effectiveness of the first strike. In the first sweep of the war, the United States and the coalition had wiped at least half the Iraqi Air Force out of the air and the rest were running for Iran.

"Firefighter 103; you and Firefighter 104, make tracks for Ar Rumaylah. Cover the F-18s attacking the airbase. Firefighter 107 and 109 are inbound to fly cover for the 18s over Basrah." 

"Roger, 103 copy." Animal replied as he rolled his F-14A pointing the nose west towards Ar Rumaylah, Harm following.

As the attacks wrapped up. Animal and Harm recovered on board the Seahawk. Trapping a 3-wire, Harm rolled out, tailhook retracting and the two F-14s parked on the flight-deck. Popping the canopy open, the two aviators stood up, deplaning first while their RIOs followed. Walking back towards the tower the two looked at each, giving each other a thumbs up. Though they hadn't had to contend with air to air combat, it was a good mission.

When they had stripped gear, had a quick Navy shower (wet down, turn tap off, soap down turn shower back on and quickly rinse off) and re-dressed in shipboard khakis, they were summoned to operations where they were met by Commander Ellsworth, the Howler's CO and Commander Dale Bishop. Howler's XO.

"Animal." Commander Bishop said, extending a hand. "Good work over Al Rumaylah today. I know that we're gonna be workin' you and Harm pretty hard over the next few days, but we've heard word that Hussein is gonna be sending up some heat tomorrow. I need you and Harm on CAP for a mission deep into Indian Country. We're gonna be launching for Nasiriyah tomorrow, full-scale combat air patrol. We're gonna have at least 4 Howlers protecting 16 Hornets. Command wants the Tallil Air Base cratered. Our Tomcats are going to fly mid-CAP ready to jump in if any MiGs decide to get off the ground."

"Aye, sir." Animal responded.

The two of them exited the briefing room and headed for the mess. The food was tolerable that afternoon and they both ate. Hitting the rack, they figured it was best if they got some sleep before the mission the next day.

_**0400 HRS, USS Seahawk. **_

The four F-14 crews were briefed then told to man their fighters. The F-14s were ready on the deck as Animal and Scooter did their preflights. Animal looked up at the fighter as he grasped the third rung of the ladder and hauled himself up after his RIO. As they settled in and put on their bone-domes (helmets), they started to slowly hear the steady whine of the turbines engaging on the neighboring F-14s. Their own huffer-cart started their F-14 as the crew went down the checklists prior to their hitching up to the catapult.

"Looks like we're already to go." Scooter replied to Animal's inquiry as to whether they were ready or not.

"Well, pardner…let's go flying." He said as he saw Harm's F-14 take to the air with a flight-deck resounding bang of the catapult. It definitely looked like a good solid cat shot as Harm's F-14 briefly dipped below the bow of the carrier then reappeared climbing. Looking down at the plane captain, he lifted up a thumbs-up…returning the salute of the plane captain and braced himself. Then his eyeballs caged as the force of the cat-shot never failed to take him by surprise.

"Good cat-shot…" he radioed back to the tower. "Firehall, Firefighter 103 airborne." 

"Roger that, 103, Firehall, Have a good flight." He heard back from carrier combat operations center.

"Firefighter 106 & 107 form up on my starboard. Firefighter 104, form up on my port wing." Animal ordered. The four F-14s decided to use an old flight formation called the finger-four. Harm was flight wingman, Animal was flight lead, 106 was element lead and 107 was element wing. If attacked, they would split into two pairs thus making the enemy have to fight two sets of aircraft. Animal had earned his spot as a flight leader in his last squadron, the Black Aces and now with the Howlers, he was designated flight lead and Animal was grooming Harm for the flight lead position once he went back to his old squadron.

Trailing the F/A-18s which were flying about 1000 feet below their flight plan, the entire flight headed towards Nasiriyah and the target at Tallil Air Base.

Note: In the Gulf War, the F-14 Tomcats were shut out of the "fixed wing kill ring" by the USAF F-15s, F-16s and by USN F/A-18Cs. So unfortunately the only kill that the F-14s were able to notch up was a Mil 8 helicopter. However, that does not mean that the F-14 wasn't an effective dogfighter, it was inter-service politics that set the Tomcats up in such a way that they were unable to prove their effectiveness in air-superiority situations.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Tallil Air Base, Nasirayah, Iraq**_

The maintenance officer of the Revolutionary Air Guards snarled epithets in Persian as he finally coaxed an engine to life as the Guard Captain Mohammed Reza Khatoob ran from the hardened shelter and up the ladder of the MiG 29 Fulcrum. Captain Khatoob wanted to make sure that at least one MiG would end up in the air and maybe if he was very lucky he would end up making several kills on the American aircraft that dared to fly around Iraqi airspace as if they owned it. The maintenance officer had to scurry out of the way as the Fulcrum lurched forward and headed out to the runway, blasting off the ground as soon as it reached the end of the runway.

"memken aset bh aw Allah peyerwezy asset [May Allah give him victory]" the maintenance officer said to himself.

_**Firefighter 103, Over Tallil Air Base, Nasirayah, Iraq. **_

"I see one Fulcrum launching". Animal said. "You cover CAP, 106 & 107. I'm going after this one." He wrenched his F-14 into a hard 6G turn. "Harm, on my wing!" The two F-14s broke off from the combat air patrol they were assigned to and went after the MiG 29. The rules were clear from high command. There wasn't supposed to be a single enemy aircraft to be left in the air.

_**Guard Captain Khatoob, Iraqi Revolutionary Air Guard MiG 29**_

"ah 'ezazem kheda. [Oh dear God!]" the Guard Captain said as he swivelled his head around to look for the F-14s coming after him. The ZSH-5A flight helmet made it hard, especially as he was trying to evade lock-on while he was at it. Jinking his MiG into a left turn, he rolled hard right again just as the US Navy F-14 Tomcat (he knew his enemy aircraft that much from reading aircraft magazines) dropped in on his six. Maybe it would have been much safer to stay on the ground. But Guard Captain Khatoob was no coward. He would fight and if Allah was willing, he would prevail otherwise he would die with honor.

He heard an explosion from the base below and saw another MiG 29 go up in flames on the runway as an F/A-18C strafed it.

_**Firefighter 103, Over Tallil Air Base, Nasirayah, Iraq. **_

"I'm too close for missiles." Animal grunted as he yoyo'd in on the MiG 29 Fulcrum's six o'clock. "I'm going to try for guns." But the damned Fulcrum kept dancing out of the HUD.

_**Guard Captain Khatoob, Iraqi Revolutionary Air Guard MiG 29**_

Mohammed Khatoob was known as the Guregu Tenha Namezda, The Lone Wolf. Having racked up over 13 kills during the Iran-Iraq war, he was known as a very good pilot and one of the Iraqi Revolutionary Air Guard aces. They said he was one of the officers selected to be promoted to Colonel over the other pilots. That is if he survived this encounter. Right now, what he needed to do was to reverse the fortunes of the other pilot in this battle. Considering the fact that he had two F-14s on his tail he was not in a good situation. Anybody else would have resigned themselves to dying, but Khatoob was not about to go down without a fight. Jinking right to left again and then reversing he bled airspeed. Gauging where the second F-14 was, he reversed direction, throwing the first F-14 in front, then rolled hard to port doing a large barrel roll, seeing the second F-14 forced out front as well. Firing off a snapshot with his 30mm cannons, the hits walking up the top of the fuselage of the F-14 as the F-14 broke hard right, the F-14 started to smoke from its left engine.

_**Firefighter 104, Over Tallil Air Base, Nasirayah, Iraq. **_

"Damn, Animal, I'm hit!" Harm yelled out in a panic. "I'm hit."

"Break off and return to Firehall, 104." Animal retorted coolly. "I'll take him." The confidence in his voice belied the fact that the MiG 29 was right behind him and taking potshots that Animal was just barely evading.

"But..." Harm protested.

"Goddamnit!" Animal snapped. "Do I have to give you an order? 104…RETURN to base!" He jinked hard to evade another fusillade of 30mm shells.

"No, sir." Harm replied, his tone clearly indicating that he was complying with Animal's request under protest.

Animal said nothing as he saw out of the corner of his eye the other F-14, smoke pouring from his ruined left turbine heading back towards feet wet.

_**Guard Captain Khatoob, Iraqi Revolutionary Air Guard MiG 29**_

The other Navy F-14's retreat had cut down his odds from 2-1 to something more manageable, if you could say that the F-14 bouncing like a rubber ball being bounced off the wall more manageable of a target to hit. If he could just manage to get the target to hold still the cockpit being in the gunsight for just a millisecond, he would get his 14th kill.

_**Firefighter 103, Over Tallil Air Base, Nasirayah, Iraq. **_

Scooter was starting to get nervous. The MiG 29 had been hanging back of Animal's six for quite some time now.

"Shit, Animal, he's still behind us. Do something, man."

"I know. I know!" Animal barked back, frantically jinking back and forth trying to make as hard of a target for the Iraqi MiG to take. This was one of the main reasons why getting into a knife-fight in a phone booth was not a good thing to do. "What do you think I'm trying to do? Invite him for party favors?"

"Take this into the vertical. He's been chasing us around the wadis for too goddamned long." Scooter said.

_Sunrise wasn't for another fifteen to twenty minutes, the fight would be long over by then._ Animal thought to himself as he yanked the F-14 through another run through the wadis, the MiG 29 hot on his tail. _Draw him in closer._ He thought as he thrust the afterburners full forward and yanked the stick back to pull out of the sand trap. Bursting up and into the vertical from below the top rim of the wadis, he saw the MiG pulling out too hot on his six, reacting two seconds too slow and giving Animal just enough separation to come over the top. Rolling through a yo-yo, Animal reversed hard and forced the MiG 29 back out front again. _All right, you son of a bitch, let's see how you like this one._

Guard Captain Khatoob, Iraqi Revolutionary Air Guard MiG 29

Captain Khatoob had just barely managed to track the gunsight onto the F-14A when the F-14A suddenly leapt like a hare into the sky out of the sand where they had been maneuvering. All he saw was afterburners lighting and he reacted too slow. When he had figured out where the F-14A was, it was back on his tail again. He cursed again in Arabic as he realized the F-14 had achieved enough separation between them to bring missiles into play.

Firefighter 103, Over Tallil Air Base, Nasirayah, Iraq.

"Got a lock on…" Scooter said.

"Fox two!" Animal barked out as he let loose an AIM-9 Lima "Lima in the air." The missile leapt off the rails, torqued in a circle twice and impacted the MiG 29 in the port rear quarter, exploding and ripping chunks off the MiG 29 which tumbled, the pilot ejecting out of his aircraft; his parachute deploying. The pilotless aircraft tumbled through the air and impacted on a sand-dune exploding in a brilliant explosion that lit up the dimness of the morning sky. As he could see the rest of the F/A-18s and F-14s had headed back towards the carrier. "How's our state. Scooter." Animal asked; not liking the thought of having to tank after an exhausting fight.

"Just barely enough." Scooter replied. "If the fight had gone on any longer, we'd have to swim home."

_**Guard Captain Khatoob, Iraqi Revolutionary Air Guards, On a wadi 5 miles south of Tallil Air Base**_

Khatoob swore to himself. He was one of the Iraqi Revolutionary Guard's best pilots. How could the American get the best of him. "yel'en ameryeka [Curse the American]!" he muttered as he picked himself up and headed out of the wadi in search of his fellow Revolutionary Guards.

_**Firefighter 103, 10 miles out **_

"Firefighter 103. Firehall."

"Firehall to Firefighter 103, what can I do for you?" Ops replied.

"Firefighter 103, Firehall, we need a direct in. Fuel State 7.2 and I don't have the energy for a tank." _Animal's voice sounds exhausted from the sound of it_, the ops officer thought to himself.

"Roger that" Ops replied. "You're cleared for a direct in." Switching to all aircraft broadcast, he said. "99-Aircraft…99 Aircraft. Firefighter 103 cleared for direct in…hold your positions and orbit." He received acknowledgements from all aircraft in the pattern and then cleared Animal to come directly in.

Despite being absolutely fatigued, Animal managed to trap though he would later admit that it wasn't one of his best attempts. Harm and Mace were there. Most of the squadron were lining the tower with a questioning look. As Animal popped the canopy. He stood up, saluted the American flag, looked up at his commanding officer with a grin visible from the flag bridge and raised a thumbs-up. The cheering on the bridge, RDML Priddy grinned as he thought _I betcha the Air Farce can hear the cheers all the way to Saudi Arabia! _

_**Guard Captain Khatoob, Iraqi Revolutionary Air Guards, Tallil Air Base**_

As he walked wearily into the base, Guard Captain Khatoob noticed his weary looking compatriots sitting around a table.

"ameryeka, kent temkent men tekhewyef wahed. [The American; you scared off one]" a Guard Senior Lieutenant asked.

"... walakher aseqteny. [and the other shot me down]" Khatoob snapped back. "heda alameyreky hew methel af'ea alermal [This American was like a sand-viper]." The others fell silent. Many years in the desert, the men knew just how deadly a Persian sand viper could be and if Khatoob, an ace in The War, could compare the American to a sand-viper, he knew exactly how deadly that particular American could be. "saletqey bh merh akhera. whedh alemrh weswef teswed. [I will meet him again and this time, I will prevail]." Khatoob walked out of the room while the other men looked towards one another wondering how they would do when their time came.

_**USS Seahawk, 50 miles off the Iraqi Coast**_

Animal and Scooter sat down at a table. The first F-14 kill of Desert Storm came at a great time for the Navy and they were going to play it up. Harm and Mace sat to the side as well as they were a part of the air combat scenario that had developed.

"Would you say, Lieutenant Nakamura, that the MiG in question was a definite hostile?" a Reuters newsie asked with a pointed look at the naval aviator in question. 

"Yes, I would." Animal replied. "He came up with the sole purpose of engaging in aerial combat. As you can see by my wingman's damaged aircraft and the thirty millimetre cannon shell holes, the intent was there to engage us and to shoot us down." He grinned. "If he had succeeded in his attempts, I wouldn't be here talking to you."

"What is your viewpoint on the war." Hell, that was minefield of a question to ask.

"I have no viewpoint on the war. I'm paid to go up there and do my job." Animal replied.

"Lieutenant Rabb. How did you feel when your aircraft was hit." Harm looked put on the spot as he looked over at Animal.

"Sir. I felt scared. Scared for my RIO, scared for myself. I wondered if I was going to be able to nurse my aircraft back to the boat and trap."

"But we do our jobs, the best we can." Lieutenant JG Mace stated. "I wouldn't be riding in the backseat if I didn't trust my front seater…and he's never failed me yet."

_**USS Seahawk, Persian Gulf**_

_The press conferences were a pain in the ass. _ Animal thought as he stood quietly in service whites (most aviators called them the Good Humor Man uniform) staring out at the press. _At least we don't have to wear the chokers_. Most aviators didn't like the dress whites; too formal and too stuffy. And frankly, unless they were wearing the full-size medals, it didn't look good with ribbons. And the more jangly stuff you had with the uniform, the better you looked. _Just a goddamned waste of time when we could be up there killing MiGs_.

Harm didn't feel any better about the whole damned thing either. Animal was the one that had nailed the Iraqi MiG 29 Fulcrum, not him and having to sit through the whole damned conference wasn't doing anything for his reputation as a shit-hot aviator either. He was just the guy who got 30 mike-mike tracked up his port engine. The engine had managed to hold out for about 10 miles out into the Gulf, then it went tits-up and started blowing flame and Harm had to shut the engine down and operate the other on half power to prevent himself from going into a flat spin and making a small splash. That also meant he had no margin for error coming back aboard the boat and if something had gone FUBAR, he and Mace would have had to punch out. Luckily it hadn't and Mace and he were intact.

The simple fact that the rest of the squadron were happy yet kind of pissed off that they weren't the ones who got the kill sort of ate at both Animal and Harm. They had both come close to getting their asses shot off going after the Iraqi MiG 29. The pilot was good.

"Lieutenant Nakamura." A heavily accented Middle Eastern voice identified herself as "My name is Ruth Moskowitz. Haaretz News. Have you been notified that the Iraqi pilot that you were engaged in battle with was none other than the Lone Wolf. We Israelis call him _Sabag' Ahet_, The Savage One. During the Iran-Iraq war he has a total of thirteen kills. We believe that he is none other than Guard Captain Mohammed Reza Khatoob. He was on the news today, Al Jazeera stating that he is challenging you to a duel over the skies at Basrah" Animal and Harm looked at each other shaking their heads. There was no way that Animal or Harm would be making this war a personal vendetta. Haaretz News, my ass, the woman was Mossad – Animal would bet the entirety of his next paycheck on that.

"Not my call…" Animal responded. "I fly the missions I'm assigned. I'll make no exception for him. He's welcome to try again…but I will not specify where or when I am flying just so he can take his revenge. He can take his chances with the rest of the Iraqi Air Force."

The battlegroup commander RDML Wayne Priddy stepped in. "And just for the record, there is a no-fly zone extending over Saudi Arabia as well as Kuwait and Iraq. If we see any aircraft of any sort up in the air, we will shoot it down. If this so-called Lone Wolf wishes to survive Desert Storm, I would suggest highly that he refrain from taking off from any airfield. Our aviators are more than capable of handing him."

_**Tallil Air Base, Nasariyah, Iraq**_

"ameryeka alemteghetresh [Arrogant American!]" Mohammed Reza Khatoob swore as he watched the news conference on TV. "weswef tejd lh wesheryek jewy lh wana sewf tedyef lhem kema 'eded areb'eh 'esher wekhemsh 'esher 'ela beldey hesyelh aleqtel. [I will find him and his aerial partner and I will add them as number fourteen and fifteen on my kill tally]."

"Reza Khatoob!" Guard Brigadier General Abir Al-Musawi barked as he entered the room. "weqf mentesba! [Stand at attention!]"

Khatoob stood slowly, his eyes narrowing at the Brigadier General. Al-Musawi was a butt-kisser and it was well-known that he was connected to Saddam. Despite his loathing of the man, Khatoob knew that is was wise to make certain that any dislike was muted in Al-Musawi's presence.

The brigadier general walked over to Khatoob and said. "ana la a'eref keyf f'elet delk, welken kent qed aqen'et alamer leymenhek retbh al'eqeyd alekhas bek. [I do not know how you did it, but you have convinced the command to grant you your Colonel's rank.]" He handed over the embroidered epaulets of a Republican Guard Colonel. He looked down at the epaulets. A red bar at the bottom signifying the Republican Guard affiliation, the folded wings eagle and two stars.

"shekra lek. al'emeyd [Thank you, Brigadier General]".

_**USS Seahawk, Persian Gulf**_

There were enough press conferences on this MiG shootdown that Animal was about to throw his hands up in the air and pound something in frustration, but he bore it with a smile that didn't seem to reach his eyes.

Harm wasn't feeling much better about the whole thing, considering that the shoot-down was Animal's and he was the lemming that got hit and had to RTB. The constant being on display was getting to him and he wanted nothing more than to head back to his cabin and get some rack-time. Before long they would be back on flight rotation and maybe there would be a chance of his being able to get some MiGs.

"I hope this circus finished up soon." Animal whispered under his breath to Harm.

"Me too." Harm replied sotto voce.

Evidently, RDML Priddy felt the same way and canned the press conference allowing Animal and Harm to quietly return to their duties after two days of rest. The rest of the squadron as well as Animal and Harm were grateful for that as the dog and pony show had distracted the entire squadron no matter how professionally they tried to continue to maintain their duties.

_**Flight Operations, USS Seahawk. **_

Animal and Harm followed the Howlers' S-3 into the flight ops room. "You're back on flight rotation. Animal." Commander Bill "Tart" LaForge grinned. "I'm sure you're glad to be back on rotation. Right?"

Tart was a congenial 6'5" naval aviator who was rarely seen without a pop-tart in his mouth hence his callsign.

"You bet." Animal replied as he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "That dog n'pony was a pain in the six."

Tart grinned back. "But look, you got a kill – a bonafide MiG Killer. A lot of guys go an entire career without a kill. You've joined a select crowd, my friend."

"…and it just so happens, Commander." Animal replied dourly. "I now have a target on my back." He paused a long moment for that point to sink in. You ever hear of an Iraqi pilot going by the nickname. 'The Lone Wolf'. Because that's who got shot down. Turns out the bastard survived. Somebody from Mossad let it slip that the bastard is hunting for me." He looked up at Tart to see his face full of horror. "Yep…Commander, it's not all roses…"

Harm started to wonder if getting a MiG kill was all it was cracked up to be judging by the way Animal was treating it.

"In other words, Tart." Animal said, "I'm gonna have to keep my head on a swivel…and get this son-of-a-bitch before he gets me."

Tart turned sheet white. "That's a hell of a situation to be in, Animal."

"All in a day's work." Animal retorted. "Time to get back to the business of war, sir."

_**Animal's Rack, USS Seahawk**_

Animal came back from the shower towelling his hair dry. Harm looked up from writing a letter. "To Diane?" Animal asked. Harm nodded as he continued scrawling on the piece of paper – a love-letter actually. "Ah…" Animal nodded and continued to his bunk. Hanging the towel on the rack edge, he slid into the rack, picked up a "Flying" magazine and started reading it. The two officers congenially sat in silence, Harm continuing to write, Animal reading for a long moment.

"So…" Harm said finally, putting the pen down and swivelling his chair to look over at his friend. "The point that I can't get is how you managed to react so quickly to someone trying to kill you? It seemed like the millisecond it took for him to put his nose on my six, was all it took for you to execute a roll and drop in on his. It took me by surprise for about three seconds before I could snap to and react from the surprise of it." Harm paused for a moment taking a deep breath. "I was fucking scared, Animal. I thought that was it…especially when he tagged me with 30 mike-mike."

Animal looked up from the magazine. "Harm, there isn't a single person on God's Green Earth, that isn't scared in a situation like this. The difference is how you react to that fear. If you let it freeze you, you're dead. I was scared shitless too, Harm and don't you let this out to the rest of the posse in our squadron because I'll kick your ass if you do. I went in there with the viewpoint of for better or worse, I'm gonna come out of that situation, I don't know how at the moment, but I'm going to make damned sure that he's the one that's going to go down." Harm looked quizzical and Animal continued. "It's like a poker game. Harm. The enemy's shown his hand by indicating that he wants aerial combat. Your move is either to fold or to go all in. I choose to go all-in and hope that he'll fold on my bluff. And we are one better on the poker situation. We have weapons. We can shoot the other guy down. So when I go all in, I go in with guns blazing. You know the Naval Fighter Weapons School Motto: _Fight to Fly, Fly to Fight, Fight to Win._ And that's what we gotta do here."

"But you haven't been to NFWS." Harm looked at Animal.

"With this MiG Kill, buddy, ol' pal." Animal grinned smugly, "I can pick my ticket after this cruise."

"And…guess where you're going after this… yeah yeah yeah…" Harm retorted sarcastically – both Animal and Harm laughed.

"Cheer up, partner." Animal said magnanimously, "Maybe you'll get one next sortie and you'll be in the same position as me."

"With a bounty on your head?" Harm asked. "No thanks, buddy, I think I'd like to keep my six clear of any encumbrances."

"Where's Mace?" Animal thought to ask noting that Mace wasn't trying to hang out at the two officers' cabin space on-board.

"Probably in the chow hall feeding his face or on the fantail trying to get a sunset shot." Harm replied. "He eats like a garbage can and leads a rather sedentary lifestyle other than lifting weights. It's a wonder he's not the size of the Goodyear Blimp. Ever since he got that Nikon he's been busy playing with it."

"Thought he played football at Canoe U…" Animal said – knowing that the derogatory name for the Academy would get a rise out of Harm, an Academy ring-knocker.

"Hey, Rotsy! That's the Naval Academy that you're talking about!" Harm grumbled, a little irked. "I think Mace finally realized that he was out of the Academy and was off dietary restrictions and fitness carding." At the Academy you could get an honor violation if you didn't keep up your fitness level to an appropriate standard as a cadet.

Scooter was also an Academy puke and Animal being a ROTC grad was outnumbered, but he usually gave as good as he got. "Seems like a good enough reason. I know being an officer and a gentleman, you have to be honorable, but having to recite the first three commands of Fleet Admiral Nimitz is pretty much going into rote memorization, wouldn't you say?" Animal asked Harm.

"But it helps to develop your mental skills at memorization – you need it later on in your career." Harm objected looking at Animal. "like when you're learning procedure checklists, etc."

"Ah…so…" Animal said adopting a Confucian poker face. "Well, damn. I thought I'd be able to win on Jeopardy!"

It just so happened then that the 1-MC started blaring "All Hands, Battle Stations! Make Ready the Ready Five."

Scooter chose that moment to poke his head in. "Rise and shine, boys, we're on Ready 5. Two Tomcats on Cat 1 and Cat 2. Let's hustle, boys!" Animal and Harm jumped out of rack and seat respectively and hustled to get their flight gear from the lockers donning them in record time.

"What's going on?" Harm asked.

"I don't know, but there's been another Alpha Strike called." was Scooter's response thrown over his shoulder. Scooter and Animal made their way to their F-14 as Harm and Mace headed to the other one.

"Just fucking great." Mace growled as he looked over at Harm.

_**Firefighter 103, USS Seahawk**_

Flipping switches, Animal looked over his kneeboard at the pre-flight checks. Reciting the checklist as Scooter read them off, he started engines and engaged the nose-wheel, taxiing to the number one catapult on the bow starboard side. Harm joined him in Firefighter 104, the lo-vis camo'd Tomcat crouching like a bird of prey as he depressed the nose-gear so that the handlers could hook up the catapult to the hold-back bar.

Animal could see the vibration of the F-14 Tomcat as it strained against the holdback bar.

"We ready to go hit some jawas again?" Scooter said quietly from the backseat as he looked over at his driver locking eyes with him in the rear view mirror. Animal could see his cheerful grin as he had the MBU-14/P dangling off one receiver. Coming from Oklahoma from a little town just north of the I-40 called Weatherford, Scooter was a cheerful soul, not really cognizant of the connotations of the derogatory term for Iraqis he had just used.

"That's what we're paid to do…maybe we'll be lucky and hit a couple of their sandcrawlers." Animal retorted, referring to the trucks that the Iraqi troops used to move around the desert, as he flipped more switches while going down the checklist. "Your preflight checks complete?" he asked as he looked up at the rear-view.

"Checks complete." Scooter replied as he looked over at his driver.

"Disengaging nose wheel locks and taxiing to Cat 1." Animal radioed as he slowly moved the F-14A Tomcat forward to the catapult. Scant minutes later, the F-14A was launched off the bow of the catapult and they were on their way to hit another target in Saddam's Iraq.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Firefighter 103**_

Animal looked over at the F-14 in formation with him as they approached the Kuwaiti coastline. Animal chose the flight plan to go _feet dry_ over Kuwait as it afforded him some time to prepare before they went into _Indian country_. "Keep a sharp look-out. Scooter." Animal reminded his backseater on the ICC (inter-cockpit communicator) as they headed inbound. "Firehall, Firefighter One Zero Three, feet dry!" he radioed as the aircraft passed over the shoreline.

"Roger, Firefighter 103, Acknowledged feet dry." There would be a corresponding _feet wet _call on the return back as the F-14 transitioned from overland to over-water flight.

About five minutes later as they transited the Kuwait-Iraq border, a tense radio call came from Firehall. "Firehall, Firehall, Hummer One, Neptune Two reports multiple bogeys. Vector Zero Five Zero inbound over 900 knots closure." 

"Awwww, fucking hell, we just kicked over the hornet's nest." Animal muttered after signing off on responding to the all units hail.

"Oh, joy…" Scooter muttered from the backseat. "Looks like we'd better buckle in, buddy, it's gonna be a rough one."

"You hear that one, Firefighter 103?" Harm asked on the UHF.

"Roger that, Firefighter 104, Head on a swivel, Harm. We got company." Animal replied.

Scooter craning his neck back around spying a group of F-14s behind them in trail. "Cavalry's here." Scooter replied laconically.

Animal acknowledged Scooter's terse reply with a head-nod as he kept his lookout for bogeys. His eyes sighted on a few dots that looked like potential bogeys. "Firehall…Firefighter 103. Visual bogeys. I see three bogeys. Repeat three bogeys."

"Roger that, Firefighter 103. Green for weapons release."

"Roger that, Firehall, Visual ID first." Animal flipped off the UHF and switched to ICC. "I want to confirm they're bandits before taking a shot. I don't want a blue on blue. Get me the _bogey dope_. Scooter." _Blue on blue_ meant a friendly fire incident. Those were looked upon as a buddy-fuckover. "Could be Air Farce in the area."

"Confirmed; They're not showing a transponder readout. No IFF. We're cleared to go." Scooter responded.

"Close in!" Animal ordered on the UHF. The other F-14s closed ranks as they accelerated to over Mach 1. Threat warning alarms started blaring as missile locks were obtained. The F-14s split apart in separate flightpaths as AA-2s started flying in.

"Missile lock!" Scooter yelled as Animal saw a puff of smoke drop off one of the bogeys visually turning that particular threat aircraft into a confirmed bandit. "Bandit pickled one!"

Animal slammed his F-14 into a hard left turn. With the F-14s all executing evasive maneuvers, the sky suddenly opened up with a ton of room to move on all three axis of flight. Harm was on his wing executing the same maneuvers.

"Pass…Iraqi Fulcrum!" A blur going past the canopy caused Scooter to exclaim. "Bogeys are confirmed Iraqi MiGs. Confirmed Iraqis."

"Hummer One, Bogeys are confirmed Iraqi MiGs." Animal snapped off as he rolled his Tomcat to avoid the MiGs wingman as they passed with just feet to spare. "Firefighter flight, we have confirmed green for weapons release on bandits."

"Roger that." The calls started trickling in as each F-14 maneuvered for a potential kill.

But the MiGs did not look as though they were stopping to engage the F-14s. In fact they looked as though they were headed for the Iraq-Iran border. In fact one MiG 29 engaged burners as they accelerated to Mach 1.5. It was beginning to look as though the missile volley was more of a "get the hell out of our way" move rather than a hostile act.

"Hummer One, Looks like the bandits are heading for the Iranian border." Animal radioed as he looked over at his wingman's F-14 who was stationed off his starboard wing. Harm looked back at him and shrugged his shoulders. After receiving a confirmation as to the bandits' heading track, Animal ordered. "Disengage! Continue to our target area." The ACM maneuvering had eaten up the majority of their fuel so their loiter time wasn't going to be for very long. The F-18s had short legs and they were already three quarters of the way to their target area. The F-14s would have to play catch-up. This meant that Texaco was going to have to come in close to the shoreline and that wasn't good for the USAF KC-135. It would put it within range of Iraqi shore defenses and that was an extremely vulnerable position for it to be in.

_**Tallil Air Base, Nasirayah, Iraq**_

Republican Guard Colonel Khatoob startled as the attack alarms sounded. A number of Iraqi pilots had defected to Iran, but Colonel Khatoob was not going that route. The defectors were cowards. Considering that many Iraqi air force jets had been shot down the first night of the war, those who defected to Iran were going there namely to save their own skins from American missiles. The wailing sirens did nothing to calm his rage. The Americans were flying the sky over Iraq with impunity and the infidels needed to be taught a lesson.

"'eqeyd waleta'erat alekhas bek hew alemselhh w'ela aset'edad [Colonel, your aircraft is armed and ready]" The aircraft handler stammered as Colonel Khatoob turned a baleful glare on the man who recoiled at his look. Khatoob whirled around after grabbing his flight gear from his locker and ran to his replacement MiG 29 Fulcrum.

Less than five minutes later, Khatoob was airborne looking for an American to kill. And it wasn't much time later when he stumbled across Firefighter 104.

_**Firefighter 104**_

Mace let out a panicked shout as he saw the MiG 29 slot in behind and open fire. Harm yanked the stick to the left and rolled the F-14 as he tried to evade the tracer shells. A few jolts told Harm that the 30mm shells from the Fulcrum had hit. "Fucking oil pressure going down, the asshole severed our oil line." Mace's shout alerted Harm to the severe damage the Tomcat had taken.

"Hydraulics OK?. If I turn her around, I can make it back to feet wet and maybe we might be able to get a pickup from Angel." Harm responded and then made a radio call to his flight leader that they would be heading back to Firehall.

"Keep your airspeed above two-five zero! Harm. Otherwise this thing's gonna turn into a pig." Mace snapped out.

"I got it…" Harm replied as he pointed his nose towards the Persian Gulf. "How long before the engines seize up?" Mace turned around in his seat to the see the black vapor spewing into the airstream. The MiG had broken off after he had seen the black vapor spewing out of the F-14. It was a fatal hit to the aircraft and it was only a matter of time before the aircraft went down. The other concern for Harm was the chance of an engine fire. If the engine went up, the chance of explosion went up drastically and their only choice would be to punch out.

It was several long moments before Harm radioed the carrier and said the two most blessed words in the English language. "Firefighter One Zero Four, We are hit, losing oil pressure, engine seizing up…" as the F-14 bucked violently. "We're _feet wet_" snapping out the coordinates. "Send Angel for pickup. We're punching out!"

"Roger that. One Zero Four. Tally on your coords. Angel One enroute." Came the response, quickly as they knew how urgent the response would be."

"OK, Mace… Mayday Mayday, Mayday! Firefighter One Zero Four going down. Eject! Eject! Eject!"

Mace pulled the handles over his GRU-7 ejection seat. "Awwww fuuuuck…I hate this!"

"You think I like this either?" Harm's answer was lost to the airstream as the canopy separated from the F-14A fuselage and Mace was blasted out of the cockpit. Not less than three seconds later, Harm felt a kick in the seat of his pants as the rocket under his seat ignited blasting him away from the fatally stricken Tomcat. _Looks like we're going swimming_ thought Harm as he fell through the air as the automatic parachute deployed. Mace was swinging on the risers as his parachute fell about half a mile a way.

"Are there sharks in these waters!?" bellowed Mace as he hit the water, releasing his parachute and deploying his raft. Using his hands to paddle his way over to where Harm was now floating.

"Last I heard…" Harm replied, spitting water out of his mouth as he painfully got himself into his own raft, a knife to cut the risers, he fashioned a loop to the floating raft and connected the two rafts together. The ejection was a violent process and it rarely ever went without injuries. Judging from the pain he was feeling, Harm must have sprained something. "…I heard…" he repeated "…there were blacktips in the water "

"Oh, just fucking great!" Mace complained, his eyes wide with fear. "I hate that asshole who shot us down!" Looking around warily at the water, he muttered audibly just so that Harm could hear. "Was that a fin I just saw?"

"That's your imagination."

In the distance there was the sound of a helo approaching. "Hope that isn't a Hip!" Mace replied looking up at the sky warily. If so, I'm diving off this raft! Fuck the reef sharks!"

The Iraqis used Mi-8s for tactical reconnaissance that required troop presence and that was a scary thought. However his fears were soon allayed as the helicopter that appeared on the horizon was a SH-60 Seahawk.

_**Much later, USS Seahawk Medical Room**_

"Lieutenant Rabb, you must have compressed your back slightly when you ejected; that's the pain that you're feeling from the aftermath of all this. Other than a few days off the flight roster to recuperate; you'll be back on flight rotation." Harm looked up at the doctor who grinned at him.

"Nope…the injury won't get ya out of this one." Animal grinned at his friend who looked more than perturbed to be laid up in a hospital bed in the Seahawk's onboard hospital.

Harm looked up with a dour expression. "That's the second time my aircraft has been shot at and now I've dumped a Tomcat in the water. There's going to be an investigation."

Animal looked over at him. "Look, Harm. There's mitigating circumstances in both situations." Raising his index finger he stated "you were jumped in both cases and in the second he got in a lucky shot, the golden bb severing your oil line causing the engines to seize up. You punched out feet wet and managed to keep your RIO with you so that you both got rescued. Mace is shook up but fine. And the CO's report is going to reflect that. Why should you worry?"

"So you think it's not going to be a black mark against my record?" Harm asked, his tone rather disbelieving.

"If I'd gotten hit like that, I'd be in the drink too. The engine seized up plain and simple. What caused it – a severed oil line. Can't stop something like that from happening."

"I should have seen him." Harm looked down at the white sheets covering his torso. "Should have kept a better lookout."

"Look, that's why you have a backseater too. And even _he_ didn't see the guy jump you." Animal retorted.

"What happened to the rest of the mission?" Harm asked curious about the successfulness of the mission that they were both on.

"Guess it went OK…" Animal replied, shrugging his shoulders. "I was too busy trying to keep my ass from getting knocked out of the sky by SAMs." He chuckled wryly. "Every ten seconds, EVASIVE…SAM in the air! Left visual, right visual. Break Right; Break left…holy sheeeit." He gesticulated comically, eyes crossed. "Yep…just barely managed to bring my happy fanny home safe n' sound." He looked satisfied with his own performance.

"That bad?" Harm looked as though he was glad to have gotten out of going through the rest of the mission, but he had truly wanted the experience of a real baptism of fire. But now his mind was wondering, whilst pondering his status, if he really had the right stuff to be cut out for being a naval aviator. How had his dad done this day in, day out with an aircraft reputedly the stuff of legends? The F-4J Phantom II was an airplane that brooked no mistakes. Its approach speed to the deck was 15 knots higher than that of the Tomcat at 130 knots – that meant the F-4 Phantom had an approach speed of 166.7 mph compared to the F-14 Tomcat's 149.6mph over the fantail. The Tomcat's slower approach speed meant that the aircraft crew had more time to set up for the landing. But it was still akin to diving onto a kitchen table from a ten-meter high-dive platform.

Animal nodded. The white trails of the surface to air missiles, SA-3 Goas and SA-6 Gainfuls to be exact, were absolutely un-nerving and downright terrifying if they turned toward you. The adrenaline shot was insane. There were too many of them in the air, he remembered. He recalled snapping his F-14 into a series of hard turns to evade the storm of SA-3s and SA6s that were thrown up at them. The SA-3 was a mid-altitude surface-to-air missile carried on a truck, while the SA-6 was a low to medium range surface to air missile. That effectively blanketed the F-14 and F-18s attack altitude range while the SA-2 and SA-5 missiles took care of the bombers that flew high-altitude for their bombing runs. Evasive against SAMs didn't give a person much time to think let alone assess the situation. Everything was instinctive. When the call came out to go evasive, Animal just reacted. Instantaneously slamming his F-14 into a hard right turn had caused him to miss an SAM that had his name on it. He had reacted in enough time to be able to evade the SAM and the proximity fuse had failed to arm on the missile. Thankfully, the missile hadn't been manually detonated or he'd be in white robes with a harp in one hand.

Tart Laforge strolled into sickbay. "Got the report for you to look over before we send it in. Like Lieutenant Nakamura says; you're A-OK…and nothing's gonna ding you." He paused looking over at Animal and then his gaze turned back to Harm. "I think he already told you that you couldn't have known about the bandit that jumped you in advance and on top of that you pretty much managed to make it back out to the Persian Gulf before you had to punch out. That made it easier on Angel 1 to be able to pick you up."

After the two of them had left, Harm thought long and hard. His head hurt from the battering it took punching out into the 350knot slipstream and his back ached. His vision was blurry from the slipstream hitting his face at over 400mph regardless of the fact his visor was down. He was hopeful that the blurry vision would go away because that would impact his flying more than anything else. He muttered more to himself than anything else. "Man…I really screwed the pooch."

"Hey, pardner!" Mace limped into the room as Harm looked over at him. "How are ya doing?"

"Feel like I've gone ten rounds with Holyfield." Harm said. "Then got kicked in the head by a mule."

Mace snickered, "Well…Harm, that's a pretty descriptive way of puttin' it."

"Don't laugh, Chucklehead or the next time we go and see my Grandma Sarah, she can arrange for you to meet Molly."

"Molly?" Mace's interest was piqued. Anything related to the opposite sex intrigued Harm's RIO and Harm knew exactly the bait to set up for Mace.

"Yeah…Molly." Harm had an evil grin creeping over his face. He focused however blearily on Mace's face.

"So when can I meet her?" Mace grinned eagerly.

"Well…if you like Molly, she's about 345 lbs and very devoted." Harm said looking over at Mace whose jaw had just dropped open. "Her ears are a little big too. So's her nose. I got her picture here…" He reached over for his wallet.

"Here…" Mace gave him a hand, handing over the wallet.

Harm pawed through his wallet looking for the right picture. He then handed it to his RIO. "There, ain't she a beauty?"

"Ah…yeah…I guess…" Mace said. His eyes were staring at the picture. It was a photo of a mule.

"She kicks." Harm grinned widely.

Mace didn't look impressed. "She's a mule." Was Mace's disgusted statement.

"Obviously."

"You're an asshole!"

_**A week later, Sickbay, USS Seahawk**_

"So Lieutenant, are you finding your vision is clearing up?" CDR Jeff Wallace asked. "I'm sure that it was just a side-effect of the ejection. The G forces involved in an ejection can do traumatic things to the human body and undoubtedly your eyes were affected by the g-force."

"Yes, sir." Harm replied as he gazed at the sickbay doctor. "I don't think I've had any relapses."

"That's good." CDR Wallace stated as he signed off on the report. "I think we can put you back on flight rotation. We've given you a round of antibiotics for your eyes that you've gone through so you should be fine."

"Is there any chance of recurrence?" Harm eyed the doctor warily. "I don't want to be up in the air if this thing comes back."

"Very doubtful, Lieutenant. The antibiotics given to you were strong enough to kill the bacteria that was in your eyes from the dunking you took in the Gulf. Now there may be some residue from the oil that was floating around where you took a swim." The doctor looked at him, assured confidence emanating from his posture.

"Well…I guess…thanks, sir." Harm replied as he took his leave of the sickbay and strode towards the stateroom that he and Animal shared. He reached their stateroom and looked over to see his bunkmate sitting in the chair, eyes closed, listening intently to classical music emanating from the CD player boombox, looking as if he was completely unaware of his surroundings. Grinning evilly he reached over Animal to turn the radio on his stereo to a rock station just to yank Animal's leg.

"Touch that dial and you'll be making another visit to the quack…" Animal's grumbly baritone emanated in his ear.

Harm pulled away from the stereo. "Rats…I thought you were asleep." He stated chuckling.

"Nope…Even when I am napping I am fully cognizant of my surroundings." Animal said smugly "…and I enjoy my Telemann before heading up on a hop. The floating quack release you from your imposed down-time?" he enquired.

"Yeah," Harm smirked. "Missed me?"

"Kinda. You know how damned hard it is to get a wingman of your caliber flying missions? At least I know what the hell you're doing. Gutter and Pong don't have a fucking clue as to what the hell they're flying. I don't even have to talk on the radio with you. Everyday is a no joy helmet fire with them. They're so behind the power-curve, you wonder if they can tie their shoelaces without hurting themselves." Animal growled. Gutter and Pong were coneheads, newbies just out of Fleet RAG.

Harm knew exactly what Animal was talking about. Experienced aviators tended to have sphincter-pucker when assigned to fly with a cone as a wingman. Cones weren't up on what was expected of them in the air and it would take some time before they were up on the power curve enough to be of use. Right now flying with them was a liability, especially in combat. But considering the turnover in the squadron due to guys getting out after their hitch in the Navy – they just had three leave because their term in the Navy was done and they had high-paying jobs flying self-loading luggage from point A to point B when they got back state-side; the new guys coming in would have their baptism of fire thanks to the machinations of Psycho-Saddam. The Department of the Navy was instituting the stop-loss clause in the ETS (Extension of Term of Service) contract but currently on a voluntary basis meaning that the servicemen were asked if they would extend; The Secretary of War was going to implement a hard-line _stop-loss_ subject to Congressional vote.

_**Tallil Air Base, Nasirayah, Iraq**_

Khatoob glowered at the damage that was being repaired by soldiers in the Iraqi Republican Guards. The main runway was cratered by CBU-78 cluster bombs. The American F/A-18s had carpeted the airfield with cluster munitions. The repair work was risky; there were unexploded munitions all over the field with the propensity to explode at the slightest disturbance. Already there were at least twenty casualties, all fatal from trying to remove the bomblets that had scattered over the area. This was not warfare, this was wholesale delayed slaughter. It was not safe to walk outside the designated areas that were deemed cleared of munitions. This would delay the airfield getting back into use, however the other option was to fly out of an air base that hadn't been targeted yet, though with the daily increase in air-strikes by the enemy forces, the number of air bases that hadn't received the same treatment as Tallil had decreased considerably. By now, the enemy had complete and utter control over the air over Iraq and had instituted what they called a no-fly zone meaning that the enemy would shoot down any aircraft that attempted to take off. Khatoob was vicious in the air, but he wasn't stupid. Not with constant American surveillance in the air. There was no need to deprive the Iraqi Air Force of a competent pilot and Khatoob would have his chance at revenge eventually.

Looking over at his fellow pilot, he growled. "alameryekyewn yestekhedmewn seyash alared alemherweqh! [The Americans are using a scorched earth policy!]" he threw an encompassing hand gesture at the airfield spotted with ribbons and cordoned off areas. "ledyena metar la ta'el menh. weqd aseybet anha delk. [Our airfield is useless. They have cratered it.]

Sameer Al-Saad looked over at his superior. "keyf senqewm balanetqam? la yemkenna m' alameyrekyeyn thelq fey sema' alemnetqh. fen alameyrekyeyn atelaq alenar lena basetmerar. [How will we wreak vengeance? We cannot with the americans flying overhead. The americans will shoot us down.]

Khatoob looked down at his feet, then clenched his fist raising it to the sky and shaking it. "kesnentezr! [We will wait!]"


End file.
